Chapter Three
“So,” Hector’s voice was casual as his blade swung at my face. I raised my shield and braced against the heavy blow. “I hear you’re getting married.”
“Not,” I shoved his arm away and slashed at his side. He laughed and skipped back out of my reach. “Necessarily.”
“Choosing the quest?” The sun glinted off his sword, right in my eyes, as he aimed the next swing at my head. “Good, then all my hard work won’t be wasted.”
I parried with my own blade and thrust my shield into his chest with a heavy thump. He grunted and gave way, withdrawing a few feet. “We’re supposed to decide together.” This time, I pursued him, scanning his stance for weak points.
When we first started these sword lessons, long before Hector had been promoted to Captain of the Guard, I’d only ever defended, never pursued.
He was more than a decade older than me, larger, stronger, faster, and he did not give a shit.
Drove me straight into the ground. Knocked me on my ass a dozen times a day while imparting sage life lessons like “If you’re always on the defensive, you’ll never win the fight because you’ve already given up on it. ”
Of course, once I did start fighting back, he still knocked me on my ass, but at least I repaid him with bruises.
His shield blocked one swing, his sword the next, as we danced around the training ground. It’d rained last night, so the dirt was soft but not so muddy it stuck to our shoes. Our footprints documented every step of our fight.
“Would you rather marry a stranger?” he asked. “Or fight monsters?” He feinted one way, then slashed toward my middle and I wrenched my arm at an awkward angle to block him.
“Ideally? Neither.” It’d been months since we fought, and my words came out breathy, while Hector had barely broken a sweat. “Wives and monsters hold the same appeal for me.”
“You could follow in your father’s footsteps and find a husband,” he said with a wink.
My answer was stalled as our dance quickened, striking, blocking, parrying, in a flurry of blows too quick to narrate. “So long as—” clang—shing—thump “—I don’t find a blade in my back.”
“You think any of them would betray you?”
I’m the one betraying them. I needed to end this fight before I said something I shouldn’t.
“I think—” I stepped in close, risking a blade to my stomach as I hooked my foot around his ankle “—anything is possible when you’re working for a good wizard.
” I yanked hard and followed Hector down, pinning him into the dirt.
The air wheezed out of his lungs as he stared dazedly at the sky. “I’m too old for this shit.”
“You’re not even forty.”
“Still too fucking old. Get off me before you rupture something.”
I rolled off him and lay beside him, trying to catch my breath.
A slow, steady clap carried over from the fence. I arched my head back to see who our audience had been and found my dad grinning down at me. “Excellent job.”
I rolled to my feet, then helped Hector up as well. “I only won because of a dirty trick.”
“About time, too,” Hector grumbled. “Been leaving that opening for you for years.”
I frowned. “You wanted me to fight dirty?”
“I didn’t train you to be a duelist, Trey. I trained you to survive.”
“Then why didn’t you just fucking say so?” All these years, I’d tried to fight fair, to be ‘good’, someone worthy of my fathers, even as I lied to them. And now Hector was treating that restraint like a weakness.
“I told him not to,” Dad said, leaning on the fence. “I didn’t want to influence your choices.” He glanced at Hector. “Could you confirm the final appointments for the outriders?” It was a gentle yet firm dismissal.
Hector bowed, then thumped my shoulder twice, hard enough to feel like revenge. “You did good, Trey. Keep it up so the monsters can’t even get a taste of you.”
I climbed over the fence to join Dad, and we started walking back to the main castle. His steps were slow, measured, and I matched his pace. “What is it?”
He gazed at me like he was trying to read something in my freckles. “I know we taught you everything we could, but I still hate that this responsibility has fallen on you.”
My heart squeezed in my chest at his serious tone. “You already played your part.”
“Yes, and I hated it then too. Parents shouldn’t rely on their children to protect them. To protect a whole kingdom.”
“I’m twenty-one,” I reminded him.
“You’ll always be my child.”
I couldn’t do this. I had to tell him. “Dad, I—” I’m not Brendon’s son.
I’ve been lying to you both the whole time.
My real father is an evil mage trying to destroy the kingdom.
“I lost my virginity in the stable two years ago.” The confession spilling from my mouth had nothing to do with what I’d meant to say.
A burning, spicy taste of magic accompanied the words.
Dad stopped in his tracks and stared at me in bewilderment. I couldn’t blame his confusion. It’d been so long since I’d tried to tell anyone about the old man, I’d forgotten about the geas. “Oh, uhh, that must have been an experience?”
My face heated as I blushed as red as my hair. “Sorry, that wasn’t …” I stopped myself, afraid of blurting out more embarrassing confessions. “Sorry.” I ducked my head and hastened my steps, hurrying toward the castle entrance.
He laughed away the awkwardness. It was a warm, comforting sound, nothing like my old man’s menacing cackle. “I understand, Trey. You’re an adult.”
I really don’t think you do.
“If you’re worried about past dalliances, or even current ones, you should just be honest with the others.”
Honesty is the one thing I can’t give anyone.
“Trust me, it’s a lot worse trying to solve your problems alone. And if you don’t want to participate in the spell at all—”
“No, I want to do this.” Just not for the right reasons.
“Alright, I’ll stop fussing,” he promised. “No matter what you decide at the meeting, nothing has to happen immediately. Don’t worry about whether you’re getting married or fighting dragons or anything else yet.”
I snorted. “Since dragons aren’t real, we won’t be fighting any—” at his cagey expression, I demanded, “Dragons aren’t real, right?”
With a cheeky grin, he said, “You can fight that beast when the time comes.”
I scowled. “You chose that wording on purpose.” Sometimes, I wondered which of my fathers was truly the evil one.
As we approached my bedroom, he asked, “Have you packed yet?”
We were supposed to leave in an hour, but I’d put off packing, partially to get in another training session with Hector, but mostly because I wanted to delay our departure for as long as possible.
“How am I supposed to pack when I don’t know what I’m getting myself into? Should I pack a suit of silk or armor?”
“If you want armor, Kit might have some stashed somewhere.”
“Why would Kit have armor?”
“It’s a long story.”
“We have a long carriage ride ahead.”
Pretending not to hear me, he unsubtly changed the subject. “By the way.” His nonchalant tone immediately put my guard up. He opened my wardrobe door as an excuse to keep his back to me. “We’re picking up your cousin Delilah on the way.”
“Dad, no,” I groaned. “Can’t she get her own ride?”
“Your aunt’s coronation was less than a year ago. Franny’s still settling into her role as queen, and Kit’s not going to leave her side anytime soon. It’s better for everyone if Delilah travels with us rather than relying on a hired guard.”
“Do you mean it’s better for her safety, or because she’s less likely to turn feral and run off into the woods on our watch?”
“Both.”
No amount of arguing would get me out of quality time with my dear cousin. “Fine, but if she starts yowling, I’m riding with the coachman.”
Dad chuckled and conceded, “Fair enough.”
I pulled out my trunk from under my bed—the one not holding the magic mirror—and laid it open to start packing.
Dad shooed me away from the trunk and said, “I’ll pack, you go wash up.”
I glanced nervously at my wardrobe. My fathers and I did not share a sense of style.
Dad wore lots of reds and blacks with fine embroidery, where Father preferred neutral colors and earth tones.
Someone in our family needed a touch of color, so I’d filled my wardrobe with everything from sunshine yellows to deep, luscious purples. “Are you sure—”
“I refuse to be stuck in a carriage with you smelling like dirt and sweat.”
Since it might be my last chance for a proper shower, I gave in and left the packing to him. Hopefully, he would choose complementary colors, or I would look ridiculous.
“Alright,” Dad said as I stepped out of the bathroom with damp hair and fresh clothes, “I’ve packed everything you need to fight a dragon.”
I laughed.
He didn’t.
“You are kidding about the dragons, right?”
“Look at the time!” he exclaimed without even feigning to check a clock. “We’d better head to the carriage, or your father will worry.” Then he walked briskly away.
The attendants grabbing my trunk blocked my path, so I couldn’t keep up with him. By the time I reached the carriage, both of my fathers were already inside, sitting on the same bench, so I sat across from them. “Father, are dragons real?”
Dad hid a snicker behind his hand.
Father arched an eyebrow at him, then said dryly, “Ask Kit to tell you about the dragon. They’re a much better storyteller than either of us.”
“If you’re lucky, they’ll even reenact it with a spoon,” Dad added, waving his hand in a flourish.
I thumped back against the seat, suddenly worried about my own chances of surviving this quest.